THE BURIED GOD
Chapter 30: The Dawn After
The sun rose over the mountain.
The sky was pink and gold, the clouds thin and high, the air cold and clean. The mountain was different now—smaller, darker, quieter. The silver light was gone. The pulsing was gone. The hunger was gone.
But the mountain was still there.
Black. Silent. Waiting.
Damon stood at the edge of the forest, his shovel in his hand, his boots caked with dust. Vespera stood beside him, her silver eyes fixed on the peak. Lyssa stood on his other side, her green eyes scanning the trees. Rook stood behind them, his gray eyes closed.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
They were waiting for something—for the mountain to crack, for the god to rise, for the hunger to return.
But the mountain did not crack.
The god did not rise.
The hunger did not return.
“It’s over,” Damon said.
His voice was quiet, certain, as if he had finally accepted the words.
Vespera looked at him.
Her silver eyes were wet.
“Is it?”
They walked back to Stillwater.
The road was long, the trees were bare, the sky was gray. Damon walked ahead, his shovel scraping against the stones, his legs aching from the climb down. Vespera walked beside him, her silver eyes scanning the shadows. Lyssa walked behind, her hand on her knife. Rook brought up the rear, moving slowly, breathing heavily, his old bones creaking with every step.
They reached the village at dusk.
The gates were open.
The walls were empty.
The guards were gone.
“The people are hiding,” Lyssa said.
“Or waiting,” Rook said.
“Or hoping,” Vespera said.
Damon looked at the houses.
At the dark windows.
At the closed doors.
“For what?”
The elder was waiting in the square.
Her white hair was bright in the fading light. Her gray eyes were fixed on Damon. Her hands were clasped behind her back.
“You did it,” she said.
“Did we?”
“The mountain is quiet. The god is sleeping. The hunger is waiting.”
“That’s not done. That’s postponed.”
The elder smiled.
It was a sad smile, small and tired and full of years.
“Postponement is all we can hope for. The god cannot be killed. The god cannot be buried. The god cannot be forgotten.”
“Then what can we do?”
The elder looked at the mountain.
At the black stone.
At the silent peak.
“We watch. We wait. We hope.”